


Safety

by fewlmewn (Shouriko)



Series: As Close As You Can, For As Long As It Lasts [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Body Worship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Explicit Consent, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Massage, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 04:56:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17217395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shouriko/pseuds/fewlmewn
Summary: Finding a safe space to get to know each other.





	Safety

**Author's Note:**

> Follow up to the previous self-indulgent piece "Shelter", which I recommend you read before reading this (just so you know where I'm coming from with this pairing). Ideally this series should turn out to be a triptych, but this is what I have so far. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

The flesh is still tender and white-pink when the lichens recede and the once red-tinged scabs fall to the ground; the puncture wound left by the crossbow bolt, now broken off and splintered at their feet, is just a pale, fresh mark that will be completely gone in a few more hours. Caleb's thin skin around and over the starburst scar is still sore and a bruise is blooming underneath the surface. Clay's discerning eye can see the tiny vessels sprouting and popping in a web of blue-red blood. He could've done a better job, make any trace disappear, but he had favored quantity over quality for the time being, wanting to stitch back together as many of the several injuries his group of friends had sustained. Despite not being necessarily deadly, a volley of bolts and arrows had proven to be quite the setback, forcing them to stop before long to camp, not wanting to risk getting surprised by another attack on the road in the dead of night. He clapped a hand on Caleb’s shoulder, minding the recent injuries, and moved towards the group to see what he could lend a hand with.

Hunched and hissing from the leftover pain, everyone had helped raise a modest campsite in a shadowed corner further West down the road, where plains met mountains. They didn't bother to check the other several caves that bore into the rocky wall behind them, sure to encounter vermin and other foes eventually in one of them, and not wanting to disturb them just yet - they were happy with the little nook, devoid of any living or structural danger, that they had managed to find. The position had its pros and cons. Sheltered from the elements, it would've been easier to keep the fire going; the roomy cavern that opened beyond the edge of the forest meant they only had to keep watch over its entrance, but if their luck started turning, that would've also meant being cornered in a disadvantaged position. That, also, was a problem he was willing to worry about at a later time. The area offered more than most in terms of medicinal herbs. The soil was suspiciously rich and fertile, another sign of potential predators nearby, and the humid air was pleasant and calming, the scent of wet dirt and plant life rising from the ground in a pleasant mist, warmed by the sun rays that had seeped in the terrain throughout the day. Making the most of what little daylight they could afford before sundown, Clay made a round between the nearest trees, Nott in tow to keep an eye out, most likely not at ease with a large, hard-to-miss target ambling in the woods picking flowers, leading anyone who would care to look back to their alcove.  
He found most of what he needed to replenish his supply and got to work as soon as he got back to camp. While the others were chatting, cooking a rabbit on the makeshift spit Yasha had carved from a long branch, Clay started crushing beeswax and a selection of freshly picked and dried herbs in a small stone bowl he had packed among his few possessions. With a hint of nostalgia, he noticed that some of the plants that grew in the Blooming Grove and that he’d picked before leaving were starting to run low, and he hadn’t found them in the wild since; no matter, he was going to have to get creative with what the Wildmother allowed on the road, it was one of the things about travelling he most looked forward to. Sampling new plant-life, finding creative uses for what the earth gave him, wracking his brain to find alternative solutions to new problems that had never crossed his mind before, back in the Grove.

There were many things he was eager to try and discover, but homesickness still struck at the worst of times. Touching the bark of a familiar tree and hoping it would bring him back home was one way to deal with the distance. Other times, when all around him was new and unknown, scary and foreign without a way to turn his mind back to safety, crushing herbs rhythmically, getting lost in the motions and in the scents rising from the bowl was his only thread to the familiar.

It was going to take a while to find a new home away from home. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the routine, the familiarity, the safety of the Grove. Not that he wasn’t safe with the Nein –  on the contrary. They risked their lives on the daily, yes, but there was something about being surrounded by people, living people, that resounded with him. It was a different kind of protection, but protection nonetheless.

Ever since the last of his family had left the Grove, he had grown into the place, making it his own nest. He could navigate between the gravestones with his eyes closed, he could track the position of whichever flower or plant by scent alone. Every mushroom felt different to the touch, and he recognized every denizen of the Grove by the smoothness of the cap and the softness of the underside. Some days, all it took to bring Clay back home was to think of the morning dew – the very same that matted down his hair even this far from the temple – and how it gathered in every nook of the Blooming Grove. Inside flowers, clinging to their colorful petals, shy and coiled in the first hours of day; and dripping in beads from the crimped gills of pale, soft-fleshed mushrooms.

He sighed and, with a few more crushing motions, the contents of the bowl were finally reduced to a dense, sage-colored paste. He set it aside to rest near the fire, as he steeped some of the flowers he’d picked earlier in the boiling pot he had hoisted over two flat stones.

Weary and quiet, with the occasional jab and joke shared among themselves and which Clay couldn’t fully understand but meekly smiled at in sympathy, the group ate and prepared for the night. Having camped so early allowed them all to take some downtime to look after their own business. Nott was polishing the rings on her fingers from mud and gore and chatting with Jester about her own, much cleaner selection of jewels; not too far, Yasha was tending to her blade with a smile and a hummed song on her lips. Fjord and Beauregard were putting some supplies away and discussing each other’s injuries from the earlier fight. Caleb, as the target of the bulk of the blows, having been caught unawares as he led the horses and the group down the road to spearhead this leg of the journey, had called it an early night. Foregoing dinner, he had entered one of the tents to rest up before his turn to take watch came. Frumpkin was unusually spry, stretching near the fire and scratching at a collapsed log near the cave’s entrance.

Not really comfortable intruding the others’ time socializing, and still unsure how to familiarize with everyone after the circumstances under which Caduceus had come to join the Mighty Nein, he chose to spend some time with the animal, instead. The very existence of Frumpkin made him infinitely curious, and any amount of time he could spend observing the cat was time well spent.

He tracked the tabby critter with his eyes for a while, as he jumped and rolled in the dead foliage on the ground, before smacking his lips and calling the cat closer, enticing him with highly believable kissy noises, worthy of a real rodent. Interest piqued, Frumpkin ran towards Clay and jumped in his lap to let himself be pet.

Calm descended on their modest campsite. They weren’t doing so bad after all.

Fjord and Yasha were going to take first watch, and everyone was getting up and dusting the dirt from their clothes before going into the tents to sleep. Before they could disappear inside, Clay rushed up to them with his bowl in hand.

“What the-“ Beau yelped when Clay deposited a warm, thick dollop of ointment in her hand.

“I’m sorry for the bruising, I wanted to heal the worst of the injuries but you’re all going to be sore tomorrow if you don’t tend to the wounds. I though this-“ and he slapped another handful of the greasy concoction into Nott’s and Jester’s hands, “- would help you feel better in the morning. Just spread it over the bruises and scars and it should do the trick.” He offered a dopey smile and an enthusiastic nod, hoping they would’ve taken his gesture as a sign of kindness, thoughtfulness from a relatively new member of the group to the rest of them, who already had fallen in close with one another. Jester sniffed at the unguent in her hand and, giggling, thanked Clay, mentioning it smelled like some lotion her mom used to put on before going to ‘bed’. He didn’t know the implications, but from her blush and sheepish expression, he figured she had appreciated the thought. Beau let the ointment drip between her fingers as she tried slipping inside her tent without getting the oily substance on her clothes and staff, but gave a curt thanks. Nott tried licking one finger, without giving Clay the time to explain that while harmless, the ointment wasn’t necessarily edible, and could’ve caused- oh well. She’d scarfed the entirety of the handful, washing it down with a swig from her flask. Whatever properties the concoction was meant to have, Caduceus was hoping they would’ve worked from the inside as well as from external, topical application.

He approached the remaining members of the Nein and offered some of the ointment to them as well. After witnessing the exchange, the two were ready for what was about to come and Yasha had already undone some laces of her leather top to free access to a bruise at her collarbone.

After dumping a dollop of ointment in Fjord’s hand, he turned to see Frumpkin locking eyes and beckoning him inside the tent Caleb had disappeared into.

Lifting the flap, Clay found Caleb collapsed on his front, face turned away from him into the blankets and coat discarded to the side, neatly packed into a brown square with the leather holster and books placed over it. Caduceus crouched to the ground and sat cross-legged, bowl in hand and waiting. Caleb’s breathing seemed labored, somewhat harsh, there was a strange wet gurgling at the end of each intake of air that didn’t bode well at all. Frumpkin looked at Clay, his eyes the color of the morning sky and filled with arcane energy. Not entirely used to the familiar in this form, Clay opened his mouth to ask a question, to make sure he understood what was going on, but before he could speak, Frumpkin began circling around Caleb’s head, tail whipping with frustration. Clay inched closer, sliding on his knees towards the man. Then, Frumpkin jumped on the wizard’s back, covered in just his threadbare tunic, and began kneading into Caleb’s shoulder blades with his paws.

Clay moved closer and closer, until his knee knocked against Caleb’s side, eliciting a sharp hiss from the man. Frumpkin jumped down and returned by Caleb’s head to lie down and keep a watchful eye.

“I’m not sure I understand, it’s all very odd. But I will gladly help.” He whispered to the cat, leaning down towards Caleb’s shaking form. Before he moved any further, however, he waited for a signal. Frumpkin slowly blinked his eyes, giving Clay permission to proceed.

-

A large, impossibly warm hand pressed down the center of his back, its heavy weight catching him by surprise even if he had been expecting it. He couldn’t help but groan in reply to the motion but, luckily, that didn’t deter Clay, who started stroking down his spine.

The hand caught against every vertebra, a lulling slide that rose and dipped until Clay reached the edge of his trousers. He felt more than he saw the length of his ratty shirt be pulled out from where he’d tucked it in that morning, a gentle scratch at the small of his back. With another pained groan, he pushed his body, propping himself up with his chest and knees. Understanding his intentions, Clay slid his tunic up his torso, until it pooled under his armpits and sternum. The blessed fresh air drifting through the cave and inside the tent made him shiver, gooseflesh forming along his sides and the back of his neck, but it felt good nonetheless.

Seeing though Frumpkin meant the images went straight to his mind, and the throbbing headache was just a fraction easier to deal with without the sensory overload of light all around him. The sounds were still real, but everything was so quiet; Clay wasn’t making any noise despite his bulk inside the tent that was barely big enough for the both of them, so his pulse pounding behind his closed eyelids was the main nuisance. Clay lowered over his body, eyes locked with Frumpkin’s, and touched the top of his back with his lips. Not kissing, just a gentle, soft pressure. Then, he moved to his neck, and he laid his lips on his nape after moving his hair aside with a soft caress. He stayed there longer, every exhale making his hairs stand and the gooseflesh creep higher into his hairline. After a while, Clay finished his examination and rose, talking to Frumpkin with a serious face.

“Hmm, yes. I was quite sloppy. I apologize, this never should’ve happened. Please forgive me, I’ll heal the infection now, so be ready.” He mumbled quietly.

Caleb could sense the warm healing magic coursing through his veins, starting from a point under his ribs where the pain was the brightest. He felt himself melt among the blankets, and a small part of him that had read enough on the subject recognized the signs of the infection vanishing, the fever receding and his headache relenting to a dull thump, unnerving but much more manageable. He still felt bone-tired and sore all over, but healed. With a curious peek around his body, Frumpkin approached Clay, only to see the man collect the discarded, grey scales of lichen that had most likely grown over the spot he’d healed, and put them in a satchel clasped to his belt. Interesting that he’d keep them, he’d have to ask Caduceus what he meant to do with those. Feeling sleep overcoming his limbs, with a mental snap of his fingers he dismissed Frumpkin, who vanished in a barely-there cloud of bluish smoke.

“ _Danke_.” He whispered, trying to roll his shirt back down with heavy arms and turning on his uninjured side all at the same time, getting tangled in the blankets under him, ultimately failing to cover himself back up.

“Uh, I’m going to assume you want me out of here, now.” Clay looked around uncomfortably, thinking that he’d probably overstepped in some way.

“Ah, _nein!_ No- I… could you stay?” There was the tiniest tinge of embarrassment in his plead, but it was so easy to spend time with Clay that he couldn’t blame himself for asking. It was so nice and refreshing to just be close, in silence – and his mind managed to quiet down, too, whenever the firbolg was involved; that alone was something that had surprised Caleb, who fully expected he would’ve had to stay guarded in the presence of the Nein’s new travelling companion. It was pleasant. And after all that had happened, Caleb had to be brave enough to at least ask for it. If he didn’t stand up for himself for trivial things like spending some time with one of his companions, or buying something nice for once that wasn’t paper or ink, when was he going to become brave enough, daring enough, to make a change when it mattered?

“Certainly, I actually have brought something that could help you feel better. Would you please remove your undershirt and lay down?” Clay looked ecstatic in the low light at the prospect of company, and Caleb had to admit the glint of curiosity in the cleric’s eye had caught his attention.

He nodded, half-sat and disrobed, and stretched with a pained grunt before lying to the floor of the cavern, among the woolen covers. They had already seen each other in a similar state of undress, the road hardly allowed privacy. There had been plenty of opportunities to get acquainted with each other’s nakedness along their travels – nothing too daring, aside from the odd plunge into errant streams to clear the sweat and dirt from their bodies, so Caleb quickly quashed any spark of modesty and just accepted that this was the state of things. The pungent scent of ointment and the quiet bubble of the tent, however, reminded him of getting naked with everyone, of bath-house shenanigans under the cover of thick, perfumed steam, and a hint of sadness crept through the memory when he thought about Molly. The heartache was still there, deep down, an ember that burned from time to time. He frowned, hidden between improvised pillows, feeling a new strand of pain taking root in his temples, making his jaw clench uncomfortably. He must’ve stiffened, too, because he heard Clay give a soft, worried sigh for a brief second.

“I made this ointment, to help with the soreness. I hope everyone finds it useful, but honestly I was thinking of how knotted up you get some days as I was preparing it. It should work, if applied correctly. May I touch you?” He whispered, far too close to his ear not to make him shiver. What kind of questions was that? Clay had already touched him other times; in fact, he had done so not five minutes earlier. Caleb should’ve really stopped over-thinking everything and just go with the flow, it seemed to work for Clay, so why not try it?

“Ah, sure, _ja._ ” He offered, trying to hold back the tremble in his voice. Then, a warm substance was poured in the middle of his back. There wasn’t a lot of it, but he felt it drip down his sides, along his ribcage. Clay’s hands clasped his torso and moved in synch towards his spine, gathering the oil and meeting at the center. He splayed them again and started pressing down, slowly spreading the ointment all over his back. A pleasant smell began filling the tent and he started to relax, fully trusting Clay to know what he was doing.

He rolled the oil around with his hands, warming it up even more and looking for kinks hidden between his bones; he pushed down harder and harder with his thumbs and kneaded with his palms until he found the spots he was seeking. Heat pooled under Clay’s fingers and penetrated all through his body, gathering in his belly. With each knot unraveled, he could sense his whole self being undone, too. After the intense manipulation, Caduceus moved upwards with a wet, smooth slide and massaged his shoulders with circular motions, huge hands holding him in place – grasping at the tender flesh under his armpits, squeezing around the base of his neck, expert fingers moving up to scratch at his scalp and then down again, a jolt of pleasure coursing behind his ears and spreading all over.

He felt a pressure on the back of his thighs and realized Clay had sat across him, straddling his legs to better reach whatever it was he wanted to reach. What else was left?

“I went out and gathered a lot of interesting herbs. I’m really thankful we’ve stopped around these parts, the forest was very generous… “ He could feel the words going straight into his very mind, and he swore there was a teasing lilt to his voice. “Spearmint, Golden Aster, Laurel, Wintergreen berries… “ Each ingredient was recited right in his ear, slowly and deliberately accompanied by a new motion that lit sparks under his skin and deep into his muscles. Clay felt so close, he was probably bent all over his back, right above him, covering him entirely.

Clay’s hands returned carrying a thicker substance, probably the actual ointment he had prepared. It wasn’t as warm and oily – it felt greasy, almost waxy, and as soon as he started rubbing it over his back with a vigorous, fast-paced massage, the sensation was of an icy burn. At first he felt a cold tingle all across his body, the same as when fresh air blows over wet lips or the sting at the corner of your eyes in the early winter morning, but it quickly gave way to a strange heat that seeped into the sore, road-weary flesh, settling just under the surface and making him melt with how much he’d needed it. He hadn’t realized how much the constant travelling, the winter temperatures and the unavoidable task of keeping his mind and body aware of his surroundings at all times had affected him. Caleb really was more tired and sore than he knew. Perhaps it was because his bones still held the memory of running, for far longer than he had ran with the others, longer than he’d ran with Nott. He was like putty in Clay’s hands in mere instants, and he couldn’t lift a finger, he couldn’t do anything but lay there and take it.

Luckily, he was too tired to do more than breathe heavily and soundlessly gasp at Clay’s massage; he was sure he would’ve moaned from the pleasure of it had he been more awake, in different circumstances – loud enough to wake everyone. It wasn’t so, and Caleb was all the more thankful that Clay’s treatment hadn’t turned into the umpteenth thing he needed to worry about. He could just lay there and enjoy himself, relaxing his body as well as his mind. The headache was practically gone, the soreness was disappearing and, although still weary, he wasn’t in any pain or discomfort. It felt blissful. It felt safe. He felt taken care of, and the experience was so unexpected and unlikely that it almost would’ve given him whiplash – but he was too relaxed to bother with that, as well. How had he gone so long without looking after himself, especially when it could turn out to feel so impossibly good? Caduceus was spoiling him, he really didn’t deserve it.

But that train of thought proved to be too complex to follow in his current state, so he just let it go. He could worry about being undeserving of any type of interest, affection or caring gesture in the morning, when the self-loathing would resume according to schedule.

He dozed off for a few moments, only to be awakened by Caduceus’ strong grip around his waist, his weight at the crook of his thighs, and his warm breath close to his face, mouthing words and kisses into his jaw, down his neck, behind his ears. He stirred and groaned, and Clay moved away, shimmying down lower along his legs and rising to his knees, to give Caleb room to twist around. His back was still sticky and dragged the blanket with it, but now he was facing the seam of the tent, and most importantly, he could look into Clay’s eyes and see the affection there. The firbolg sat over his legs and swept the bowl with two fingers to gather the last of the ointment before setting it aside. With soft circles, he began spreading the substance over his chest, from his sternum to his navel, circling his pectoral muscles and pushing down on his ribcage – pushing the very air out of him. Having to look at Clay’s face through it was a blessing and a curse; the proximity, the closeness that came from seeing the other’s expression and the emotions rush across the other’s features, made him bashful. He could feel the warmth rising from Caduceus’ hands, yes, but beyond it was the patchy flush that came from within, a blossoming splatter of blushing skin that burned his core. He looked down to check, the feeling too similar to bad memories to let it be, and he could only see Clay’s fingers, lazily drawing circles through his chest hair. His hands ran all along the length of him, exploring everything; with a curious smile full of a never-before-seen brand of malice, he grasped his shoulders purposefully and swiped downwards, pressing on his nipples with his palms as they went, but teasing the pink peaks on the slide downwards, leaving them to slip between two fingers, close but not enough.

He let out a lone, pained moan, catching himself immediately and pinching his eyes closed to regain composure. Over him, Clay released a wistful sigh and when Caleb opened his eyes again, he saw the firbolg tilting his head curiously to the side, all intent and determination to make the weary human feel better. The ministrations continued; the fumes released by the friction of the ointment upon skin were starting to become addling – a fresh scent of woodsy balsam and pungent herbs that made breathing easier, more stark – and the motions grew more purposeful by the second, as if Caduceus held the secret pattern to a long-lost tapestry he needed to weave with Caleb’s muscles and tendons, right below the skin. Some spots hurt and ached, but it was so uniquely intense that his tired mind couldn’t help but register everything as unadulterated pleasure.

Clay was humming low in his throat, perhaps a tune for Caleb’s benefit, to make him relax, or perhaps a familiar buzz to remind himself massage techniques learnt a long time ago. The white noise in the confined space of the tent only added to the dimension of new-found intimacy among just the two of them, and Caleb’s mind finally, blessedly, quieted, letting itself be lulled through the sensations the body was receiving.

-

A long while after he’d begun, Caleb had finally relented, allowing his body to relax fully. It was easier to manipulate it, this way, and Clay started massaging his front in earnest, circling with his large hands the human’s biceps, sliding the ring of his fingers down their length, all the way to Caleb’s thin wrists. It was a new sensation, feeling his skin and body hair run under his fingertips. His chest was also fairly hirsute, and the dusky hairs coiled in matted swirls where he’s spread the oil with his hands, down past the dip of his navel and lower, into the hem of his trousers. A nagging curiosity sprang to the forefront of his mind and he found himself wanting to see what the rest of Caleb would look like, as relaxed as he was then. He wanted to lay his head on the wizard’s chest and listen to his heartbeat, he wanted to know what the skin would taste like now, seasoned by the gifts of the Wildmother. There was so much he wanted to know, and it was right in front of him. All he had to do was ask permission, and every mystery would be revealed.

“I would like to touch you more. Is that alright? Stop me if it’s too much, I don’t want to you to be uncomfortable.” He’d never had issues being brave with others, usually it would bring him no stress to just ask and wait for an answer, even if it wasn’t what he was hoping for, and yet with the wizard it was different. His palms were sweating, he could feel it, even if it all mingled with the ointment that covered his hands, and there was something about how private Caleb tended to be that made him question himself; what if he’d overstepped some boundary he wasn’t aware was in place? He didn’t want to lose this moment to his own inexperience with others. He hoped he’d been tactful enough in his request.

Caleb opened his eyes and leaned on his elbows to look at him. His eyes were wet, the kind of unshed tears that come with complete relaxation; his cheeks were a beautiful pink, so flushed and rosy he made a mental note to kiss them as soon as he was given permission to. His expression was, however, one of confusion.

“More? I- I’m not… I’m not sure I follow?” He mumbled under his breath, looking down at his already bare torso, Clay’s hands splayed all over him, covering almost all the skin there was that could be touched. Ah, of course.

“I would like to kiss you.” A short specification, hopefully more to the point and clear enough to give Caleb the information he needed to give or revoke permission to be touched.

Caleb’s blush deepened, the request perhaps too blunt not to provoke that reaction, but everything about him was so lovely that Caduceus liked even that sight of him. “Uhm… _ja_ , of course. You don’t need to – ah, ask… again.”

Elated, Clay’s lips cracked into a grateful smile and as he lowered his body towards Caleb’s, he replied to the wizard’s words. “Well, you see, I’d rather make sure you want this. I don’t want to take your permission for granted. What if one day you’ll be in no mood for it?”

“I- I can’t see that happening, right now, no… but you’re right. Thanks for being so… considerate.“ The words had gotten so low they would’ve been barely audible, had Clay’s face not been an inch from Caleb’s – but even then, the touching of their lips quieted any further sound.

It was as welcome and familiar as the previous time. What had once been a request for closeness, a simple act of intimacy to ground themselves in the hustle and bustle of all the adventures they’d been through, was quickly becoming something more. Kissing each other, tasting skin, was not just a heat-of-the-moment way to feel close to something – someone – and be comforted by the willingness to become close, but instead was turning into a pleasant activity they both enjoyed and wished to have more of. The difference between a necessity borne of loneliness, and a dalliance borne from genuine interest and desire. Caduceus hoped Caleb was feeling the same, he’d hate to have misunderstood the wizard’s emotional availability, which is why he elected to always make sure he had permission to touch him before doing anything that could be ambiguous or excessive. As the kisses deepened, however, it quickly became clear that they were on the same wavelength, and seeking some sort of thrill or satisfaction within the other. Caduceus was, once again, more than happy to let the human explore his foreign physiognomy; an errant hand rose to caress his face and to gently tug on his longer ears, Caleb’s lips sought out his nose and forehead, mapping its size and texture, committing to memory how it felt. In turn, Clay nuzzled against his jaw, relishing in the feel of fur against wild stubble – longer than the other time. He smelled so good, still. More like the woods, now, but the scent of earth remained, underlying and cloying like a handful of fertile soil and flaxseed.

Gingerly, he lowered his face until he was level with Caleb’s chest, and he placed his ear upon his breast, to hear the secrets within. He didn’t care if it looked strange, if it was weird to see a grown firbolg, all hunched over a human’s frame to do something as silly as that – no one needed to know, no one was watching, and Caleb… he would’ve understood. Caduceus’ peach-hued hair was mussed and, not caring for the leftover ointment on the wizard’s body, he listened intently, looking for a hint, a lead to tell him were to go next.

The breathing was stunted, wavering and unsure. He worried, thinking that perhaps he hadn’t fully healed Caleb’s injuries, but a closer inspection, and a few moments later revealed that he was just embarrassed and nervous at the sight of Clay involved in such an intimate act. Seeing as he had no intention to move just yet, Caleb relaxed little by little, and started breathing normally once again, even if he sighed and hummed with uncertainty deep into his core – before the sounds even made it out of his mouth at all. Hidden uncertainties, just for Caduceus to hear; ones that Caleb was perhaps not even aware of. He closed his eyes, then, to focus on the beating of the wizard’s heart. There it was, a beautiful seed, warm and snug in the safest place of all. So unseen, so fiercely protected by its owner no one had ever truly seen it – heard it. Caduceus couldn’t presume to know its language just yet, but he wanted Caleb to know he was listening. If he could ever have access to the cypher needed to understand what it said, he’d be very happy indeed – if Caleb so allowed. He had known for some time that the mage was harboring some grief, some turbulence; had been going through hardships no one else could fathom, least of all him, and he didn’t want to insist or impose. All he needed was for Caleb to know he was open to listening, and what better way to say as much than to do it, in the flesh.

He hummed, content and satisfied, along with the rumble of his heart. Delayed, but true to its pace. Pretending to have been let in on some sort of message – as it often happened when he read the atmosphere and feelings of surrounding life forms that others were, unfortunately, deaf to – he nodded as he rose. He was still straddling Caleb’s thighs and, happy with the developments, he resumed his exploration of his body. He kissed where his ear had been, feeling the tingle of the oil and the warmth of the skin there. He felt the heartbeat trembling under his lips, getting quicker and quicker the closer his mouth moved towards Caleb’s nipple. It was a lovely little thing, bright pink, flushed as the rest of him, and hard – as if asking to be touched. Like a sun-starved flower turns to follow the warm rays, seeking them out wherever they might be. He’d never kissed anyone in such an odd place of their body, something so in plain sight and yet kept covered and treasured at all times. Save for the few times the group had bathed together or taking turns, he’d never really seen anyone’s chest, not really. It’s the sort of thing you don’t pay attention to unless you are face to face with it – then you realize how incredibly wonderful it is. The closeness of the act is not lost on him, he knows that Caleb wouldn’t allow just anyone near that part of his body, that just being bare-chested with Clay is more than the human is accustomed to; always covered in protective layers upon layers, there is something metaphysical to shedding clothing and letting someone else peek through. Like the chaste, tender petals of Belles-de-Nuit, of Dusk Beauties that open during nighttime and release their sweet, addling scent; small crowds of fair-winged moths used to gather and revel in that perfume, dancing around the flowers to pollinate them and taste their hidden secrets, and Caduceus remembers picking the bright pink buds, one by one, at the light of dawn. He’d allow the plant to grace the denizens of the Blooming Grove with its gifts, and would give it new life once the time came for its flowers to pass on. He’d brew tea from its leaves, sun-dry the colorful flowers – he’d waste none of it, and all he wanted was to savor all of Caleb as well, leave nothing unlearned.

He sucked it into his mouth, worrying it with his tongue, waiting for something to happen. Caleb was shivering but kept quiet save for the initial gasp he’d let out. It was different. It truly transcended the physical act – that connection wasn’t just one among bodies, but more. Caduceus couldn’t help but think of children nursing at their mother’s breast, and how natural it was meant to be. It felt like devotion, like praying.

Caleb hummed under his breath when he gave a tentative lick against the pebble of his nipple, playing with his, mapping it out. He would’ve wanted to turn around and pay the same attention to its twin of the other side of Caleb’s chest, but when he tugged on the man’s skin, drawing the tender flesh into his mouth and grazing it with his teeth, a wanton moan – barely kept within the space of a whisper – rose from the wizard’s core, and his hand immediately flew to Caduceus’ hair. Spooked by the intense reaction he’d caused, Clay relented and lazily lavished the hard nipple, worrying it with his lips and tongue; like the insistence with which a child could perhaps suck on an itching finger, long after the splinter lodged in the pad has been removed. And yet, Caleb didn’t release the grasp against his scalp. Instead, he began mirroring Caduceus’ playful tongue-swirls with the motions of his hand, twisting peach-colored strands and enjoying the feel of silken locks against his calloused fingers. Within a few moments, they relaxed in a sort of familiar position. The large frame of the firbolg’s body was supine over Caleb’s trim and shorter form, in an easy and comfortable pose that managed to allow the mage the freedom to breathe and access to Clay’s crown and nape so he could freely caress him, all the while he could listen to Caleb’s heart while enjoying the clean, sweet and undefiled taste of his skin where it was most vulnerable.

They stayed like that, tenderly embracing the other, for a few minutes, until the first grips of sleep started manifesting upon their weary bodies. Not yet satisfied, however, Caduceus was the first to stir, groggily rising to offer Caleb a soft smile before continuing with his explorations. He kissed along the wizard’s body, intrigued by the hair on his stomach, taking pride in how his body was starting to fill out with the help of regular, healthy meals. He spared a thought for the rest of the Mighty Nein, his new friends, and how he hoped what he’d been doing was enough to show them he was there if they ever needed him. Healing wounds, aiding in fights and fulfilling his role as a member of the party were all tasks he performed with pleasure but with an underlying sense of duty he’d learnt long ago, from working at the graveyard alongside his siblings. The bonds he’d created with the Mighty Nein resembled a lot of what he had with his family – both the good and the bad sides of it. And he knew that being respectful and doing his part only went so far without earnest, selfless care and appreciation, which is why he’d elected to cook for the group, and to be there if they ever needed someone to listen to their worries. There was a lot still foreign to him, and he couldn’t presume to have all the answers to what plagued the others, so the best he could do was to lend an ear and provide a warm meal and a hot cup of tea to those who needed it. Returning to the task at hand – and to Caleb’s soft tummy, which quivered with restrained laughter at how ticklish Caduceus’ beard must’ve been – Clay pondered about the state of things. If it was enough to just brew the others tea and listen as they spoke, then why was he here, this close to Caleb, and none other than Caleb? Self-indulgence, curiosity, devotion? They’d all had a long day, and an even longer one was waiting ahead of them, so he quickly dispatched convoluted thoughts from his mind and blissfully cuddled with the man under him.

They kissed some more, warm mouths pressing unhurriedly and herb-scented breaths mingling. The act had grown into a familiar ritual, something just for the two of them. Home away from home, found in the oddest of places. Slowly, fatigue reclaimed their bodies once and for all, and they fell asleep safely in each other’s embrace, all tangled limbs and shared warmth.


End file.
